"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. He was nearly wincing. A strong coarse man, and there were things in his eyes which made my blood run cold with terror. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. "Who? Jack!" exclaimed Jonathan. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good.
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